Hawaii – Day 4

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Up with an alarm and gone from the North Shore by 6:15 as we were heading back towards Honolulu for an 8:30 reservation. Should have visited Kalaupapa National Historic Park on Molokai back when we visited that island in 2006; then, after today, we would have visited all of the major National Parks in the Hawaiian islands. We are going to Pearl Harbor which is referred to officially as the World War II Valor in the Pacific National Monument. I suppose it’s okay that there are things that will be left undone out here in the middle of the Pacific that can draw us back for a third visit. So besides the former leper colony on Molokai, we still have to visit Lanai, hike the Kalalau Trail on the Napali Coast, swim with sea turtles (not really all that important), and go to an official luau at a resort – never mind, there is NO way we will ever do that – EVER!

Before venturing further, Caroline has to stop at the information desk to collect her Junior Ranger booklet and get busy identifying what she needs to accomplish to be sworn in later as a Junior Ranger.

The USS Arizona, a pre-World War I “super-dreadnought” battleship destroyed during World War II, is the main attraction here at the memorial. At the time the ship was built, Arizona had just become the 48th state of America, hence the commemoration.

As anyone who is interested in visiting Pearl Harbor already likely knows, there’s a short naval boat ride out to the USS Arizona Memorial and the most iconic site here.

Almost 71 years to the day after the Japanese bombed this port and sank the USS Arizona, the oil still leaking from below is evident. In contrast to the tragedy, it is quite beautiful on the surface of the water.

Fortunately, the visitors to this solemn place are acting accordingly and showing the respect that should always be afforded to locations where an act of barbarism took so many lives. This sense of physical presence of the tragedy is reminiscent of feelings had while visiting Dachau, Manzanar Japanese Internment Camp, Custer’s Last Stand, Gettysburg, and the Eastern State Penitentiary in Philadelphia.

Usually, the place of a human death doesn’t immediately become a memorial. The evidence is removed from the place where it happened, as human remains are taken to a cemetery or to cremation. Here, we must confront that the rusting hulk of a vessel just below us still holds the remains of over 950 soldiers who died aboard this craft. They were not able to be brought by a family member to a proper resting place, but then again, what is more appropriate than using the site of a grievous act of war as a reminder of our transgressions that take so many lives?

A place of contrasts where the beauty of Hawaii is also the site of the beginning of America’s entering World War II, a harbor where the tropical setting of palm trees and the ocean is also the setting for a mass grave, where dark clouds loom over paradise.

We see so little of the battleship standing out of the water, it’s difficult to imagine that there is so much ship just below us, but this model demonstrates the scale of what is just out of sight.

The museum back on the mainland has a great exhibit that goes into the details surrounding that fateful day. This piece of heavy steel shows what the force of the bombs was doing as they unceremoniously shredded into reality and tore at the fabric of our sense of peace.

Like all National Park facilities, there’s a Junior Ranger program for those interested in learning more about the history and importance of a location while gaining a better understanding of being a steward of America’s most important lands and facilities. Caroline is collecting yet another nearly perfect score as she does her best in our rather brief visits to finish not just the requirements for becoming a Junior Ranger but to do all of the exercises and learn just a little bit more.

We left Pearl Harbor now hungry as our breakfast of bananas and pineapple was wearing thin. I’d already scoped that the Highway Inn might be a lunchtime winner, so we headed over to Waipahu and, in an unassuming strip mall, started our wait. Twenty minutes later, we had a small table and were trying to figure out what to eat. Considering this might be the first and last chance to ever visit this eatery, we got indulgent and started with an appetizer of Kahlua pork and purple yam in a quesadilla topped with mango salsa. Already, the meal was super yum squared. Next up was the laulau combo with pork and a side of squid lū’au. Determined to gain a wide sampling of their dishes, we ordered some of the made-to-order tako poke. In case you don’t know, or if Caroline is reading this to me when I’m old and in the throes of dementia, tako is the Japanese word for octopus. This dish is served with a creamy wasabi sauce, onion, and ginger miso, and it alone should have qualified the Highway Inn as great, but there was more. Haupia, oh my god, this was the greatest haupia we’ve yet had! And while it is just coconut pudding, it was the best coconut pudding.

Seeing that we were already in the Honolulu area, we decided to head over to the Bishop Museum, where Hawaiian and Polynesian history is on display. Our introduction to the facility was right here in the main hall and while difficult to see down on the ground floor, there was a men’s choir singing Hawaiian songs and lending a terrific start to our visit.

Our brief concert was followed by this gentleman giving a talk about clothing and feathers of which the exact details escape me as I’m trying to write about the day.

Along the way, we encounter a story that speculates that it may have been a group of people from Southeast China that had ventured away from the mainland and went on to discover and populate the Polynesian Islands before embarking on the journey over the ocean to populate the Hawaiian Islands. Funny how, growing up in America, I learned nearly nothing about the rich history of anyone else on Earth other than those we conquered.

Stone and wood tools were common in Hawaii, as there were no early steelworks. Wood has a difficult time surviving the centuries, but there are plenty of stone artifacts here at the Bishop. This particular tool was used for mashing foodstuffs, particularly taro, for the making of poi.

This urn with embedded human teeth is so interesting that I wish I’d photographed the card that explained its utility or symbolic meaning. So without that, I can only present you with an urn of teeth, not something I’ve ever seen in another museum or at any friend’s house.

Weavings in the form of mats, basketry, and cloth are represented well in the museum with great examples.

This is Kapa, as it is known in Hawaii; in the broader Pacific Islands, it is more widely known as tapa. Tapa, depending on how it’s prepared, can act as a cloth or be used as paper. It is often made of mulberry or breadfruit bark and was a common form of clothing before the introduction of cotton.

Lei Niho Palaoa, which is Hawaiian for a necklace of hair and whale ivory, is on display here. The hair was from a person of nobility and was diligently collected because it was thought to contain the power or “Mana” of the person it had belonged to. Interesting to see this mythology that there was strength and power represented by hair stretching from the Middle East to Native Americans to Polynesian culture, and it makes me wonder if the modern-day habit of keeping one’s hair cropped short and beard shaved clean isn’t a form of disempowerment.

The Ahu ʻula is a feathered cape made of hundreds of thousands of feathers that were delicately harvested a few at a time from living birds who were then set free to continue producing these valuable feathers. Why were they so important to early Hawaiians? Because the Ahu ʻula was worn by people of great power to provide spiritual protection. Seeing these in person is nearly as extraordinary as seeing the Grand Canyon with one’s own eyes; they are spectacular, profound even.

Masks of tattooed wooden figures are common among the Pacific Islanders, and as part of the culture and tradition of these areas, they are featured in the museum to help tell the story of customs and art shared across such a vast region.

So, while we are a bit gun-shy and apprehensive about the tourist zones of Honolulu, Waikiki, and Diamond Head, we slowly warm up to their appeal, but probably more due to our interest in the history of Hawaii found here rather than the consumer and tourist culture. While still in the area with time to spare, we’ll continue on our exploration that started today in the southwest and trek up the western shore of O’ahu.

Our destination up Highway 93 is Kaʻena Point State Park. Wouldn’t you just know it, the side of the island that is a predominantly indigenous area would be the desert side?

Compared to the North Shore, the ocean here is calm, with almost no surf.

With about two hours of driving to return to our lodging at Turtle Bay, we scope the area here on the western shore and quickly turn around to head back. On the other side of the island, we encounter a steady rain that is dimming our hopes for another spectacular sunset. No big deal, really, as we are having a perfect time with whatever comes our way. After a mediocre dinner, we arrived again at the hotel to a blustery, occasionally rainy evening that suggested we head to sleep early. But who goes to sleep at 9:00 p.m.? Old people, that’s who, are we old now? Maybe it’s that we’ve been going for over 15 constant hours? Nah, we’re just getting old.

Oregon Coast – Day 7

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Entering Ecola State Park in Oregon

This is our version of Black Friday. A misty day with a drive in the forest, that sounds about right. No crowds of hysterical people fighting over discounted stuff for us, nope, just the serenity of the woods. While we had opted not to stay overnight in Ecola State Park, which worked out because it turned out that we couldn’t have, we were still curious about what the park looked like. Well, this is perfect; we love ferns, wet plants, heavy bark, moss, red leaves, and spiders. I am so happy most everyone else would rather be at Best Buy or Walmart today; lucky them.

Moss covered trees in Ecola State Park in Oregon

Before entering the park, a sign called our attention to Mo’s Seafood Restaurant in Cannon Beach. Hot chowder sounded good, but they don’t open until 11:00 so we are here in the park instead; eye dessert before soul food never hurt anyway. The rain starts to come down harder and we’re feeling too lazy to don rain gear, so we restrict our tour of the park to the car. No matter because we are distracted by thoughts of steamy hot clams and coffee.

Ferns at Ecola State Park in Oregon

After leaving the park, we returned to Mo’s for a big bowl of Slumgullion – clam chowder with bay shrimp. This is the first time we’ve visited this location in Cannon Beach; normally, we stop at their original location in Newport overlooking the bay. It’s great here as we are right on the beach, and the chowder does just what it’s supposed to do: warming our insides.

Entering Fort Clatsop in northern Oregon

The turn-off to Fort Clatsop National Historical Park talks to Caroline and her collection of Junior Ranger badges, “This is the opportunity for another.” Of course, we’ll stop in the rain. It doesn’t matter how many other times we’ve been here, I’m certain it’ll be wonderful again. In front of the park ranger, my wife turns into an age-appropriate kid to ask for a Junior Ranger booklet. Bouncing up and down with her broad smile, she nearly pleads with the ranger, “No, really, I’m a 12-year-old at heart; let me do it, please, please, please – pretty please!”

On the grounds at Fort Clatsop in Oregon

The ranger hands over the booklet, and she’s off like a kid at Christmas about to open a present. With rain jackets and a loaned umbrella, we go down the trail into the dripping wet forest where Lewis & Clark wintered over, following their historic journey to this point near the end of the Columbia River and what is now called Lewis and Clark River. Along the way, Caroline has to identify a bunch of plants, describe them, and draw pictures of their primary characteristics. At the recreation of the fort, she sits down out of the rain in one of the rooms to compose a poem as one of the exercises.

Inside the replica of Fort Clatsop in Oregon

The now-famous location where my wife composed the poem earned her a coveted Junior Ranger badge.

A dugout at Fort Clatsop National Historical Park in Oregon

Back into the rain and over to the river, we walked for a return visit celebrating one we made many years ago. The remaining Junior Ranger test takes place in the museum where we were headed after this visit to the shore and this replica dugout, similar to one Lewis and Clark might have used.

Caroline Wise being sworn in as a Junior Ranger at Fort Clatsop National Historical Park in Oregon

I already gave away the surprise that once again, and probably for about the 25th time, Caroline is being sworn in as a Junior Ranger. Now officially badged as an officer at Fort Clatsop, she will have to meet her obligations and oath to protect yet another park and help educate visitors to be responsible. With the badge, patch, and certificate of accomplishment, we are off to celebrate with a cup of coffee from Dutch Brothers – yum. We make a note as we pass through Astoria to come back for a visit to the Columbia River Maritime Museum; seems like we can never do it all. It rains all the way back to Portland. After checking in at the Rodeway Inn near the airport, we go on the hunt for the Acropolis – a Steak and Tile joint, Caroline’s first. Her impression of having poontang flashed before her was: meh.

The next day, we had enough time to visit downtown Portland for a return to Powell’s City of Books and something to eat at Food Truck Square. Snarfed down some grilled cheese sandwiches, a chunky monkey Belgian waffle, an order of poutine, and six and a half hours of scouring shelves at the bookstore. A perfect end to our Thanksgiving trip to Oregon. Oh yeah, after leaving Powell’s, we went one more time over to the food trucks for a yummy pork belly sandwich from the same guy who makes poutine; check him out at Sideshow Eatery.

Forgotten Washington – Day 4

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Disclaimer: This post is one of those that ended up being written years after the experience was had. Sadly, there were no notes taken so whatever is shared here must be extracted from the images and what memories they may have lent us. Fortunately, there was an itinerary still in my directory of travel plans, so that will help with some details. As to why this wasn’t noted or blogged about, I was in the throes of writing/editing my book Stay In The Magic and felt that any other deep writing would derail that fragile effort.

The momentum of having completed some rudimentary narrative for the previous three days has me wanting to continue and get the last two days of this trip knocked out, but I’m sitting in a coffee shop this summer afternoon in 2021, and I’m falling flat. Sure, the photo of the low sun in the fog looks dramatic, but I’ve got nothing good in my head about this day. Maybe due to the tension that was about to boil over today, I purged this part of the trip as much as possible as it turned out in some ways not to be ours.

Our friend Kirk apparently had developed a crush on Rainy, and being as smitten as he was, he went overboard, making himself the center of attention to the point of being overbearing. By the time I had to let him know that Caroline and I needed some “us” time up in the mountains of Olympic National Park, I’d already been smoldering that he was hijacking our vacation instead of sharing it. The dumb thing about this situation is that we’d do the exact same thing later in the year when we’d invite someone else named Caroline to join us in Oregon, where we’d learn that we didn’t want to travel with her either. The trouble there was that she was scheduled to join us on the Alsek River up in Canada and Alaska the following summer. I’m yet to blog about the Oregon trip but I’m pretty sure it’ll be relatively easy to push her to the side as I did with the blog post about the Alsek.

Just give us some nature, wildlife, coast, some small restaurants, a coffee or two, and each other’s hand, and Caroline and I can be perfectly content to walk through our world. Our sympathy for those who don’t vacation as much as we do but voice envy about our privilege needs to be limited as the difficulty of meeting their ideas for lodging, food, waking, sleeping, walking, and quiet are not compatible with John and Caroline Wise. I should make one exception as we have always enjoyed traveling with my mother-in-law Jutta, well, except those times when I get cranky but seriously, our time spent with Caroline’s mother has been terrific over and over.

The forest doesn’t perform for us; it doesn’t try to make us laugh or demand that we look at it. It’s just a forest that does what it does and probably does it better when humans are not around. It’s our good fortune to be able to visit such places where serenity can be experienced.

What’s the difference between this image of the sun whispering to us through the fog while silhouettes of trees act as columns holding up the sky to a cathedral where the sun streams through stained glass and we stand before such a sight as us worshippers kneeling in the nave before the beauty surrounding us? To answer this, I’d have to suppose that humanity has forgotten how to be smitten by the natural world and has even grown numb to the artifice found all around them in their world of contrivances.

Nothing needs to be done to this piece of driftwood to make it more dramatic or give it greater utility; it is perfect and beautiful.

The layers! Caroline will know what I meant.

Some random spider spent the energy and time to construct and likely repair this beautiful web full of morning dew. The temporary nature of webs is like friendships: they are constructed in relative haste, serve a short-term purpose, and then fade unless constant attention is given to them. But even the spider finds it more effective to simply take the hour and spin a new one the next day. I wish I had the wisdom of spiders.

Here I am in 2021, assembling this blog post, and I could have made my life easier by leaving out the redundant images that are iterations of dozens of others that effectively show the same thing. But my desire to refresh my memories with distant fragments of things seen with these eyes is insatiable even though at this point where thousands of blog posts and possibly 10’s of thousands of images have been shared, it will be difficult to review them all in my remaining lifetime. But still, I enjoy knowing that I could stumble upon them in the future, and they’ll bring a smile to my face, or I’ll discover a detail I missed before.

This brave deer stood motionless looking at the human standing motionless staring at it. Maybe we were both incredulous that the other creature seemed safe enough for this moment that we could stop and dwell in consideration of what the other was thinking. Strangely enough, there were two other encounters with deer today, at least as far as photographic proof is concerned.

Even when alone with our thoughts in places such as this, while Caroline and I can be aware of our togetherness, we can still find those quiet moments of aloneness where we are here with the mushrooms, newts, moss, ferns, birds, and fog.

Instead of acting as prisms to see the details of the leaf or surrounding forest, it appears that the water droplets are acting as mirrors of the foggy sky overhead, and so they have taken on this silvery appearance. What the truth is doesn’t matter, as the only important thing is that the droplets are enchanting.

Oh yeah, I just posted that other trail photo with Caroline walking; oh well, I have a soft spot for these scenes.

Kirk and I met back in 1995 when I was opening an internet cafe, he worked as a cook in the kitchen, and you can rest assured that he’s a dick.

I would have never guessed that we’d see Mt. Rainier three days in a row, and this time from our ascent into Olympic National Park, over 100 miles away from that majestic mountain.

Mount Olympus as seen from Hurricane Ridge.

Flowers as seen by humans.

Humans as recorded by electronics after being illuminated by photons.

Ptarmigan a.k.a. grouse seen in Olympic National Park.

This was the only real reason for our trip to Washington this summer; Caroline wanted her Junior Ranger Badges from Mt. Rainier and Olympic National Parks.

On our way out to the northwestern edge of the continental United States.

Seriously, I don’t really know what I can say about driftwood covered in moss in front of the blue waters of this lake other than it’s kind of sexy.

The spots of sunlight were all I needed to find this magical.

Caroline and I first visited this tiny corner of the earth back in 2002, and so it was only nine years later when we returned, but as I write this, it’s now been ten years since that visit in 2011. No matter, really, as I never dreamt we’d go two times, so missing a third is not a disappointment.

I’d like to tell you that I photographed Caroline standing back there years ago, but as I studied the image of her on a similar bend in the boardwalk, I came to the conclusion that it is not the same spot.

Tatoosh Island and the Cape Flattery Lighthouse.

Can’t go any further down here at the cliffside where America falls into the ocean.

The last time we were in Neah Bay, we got an earful about the desperate economic situation of the indigenous Makah people. While we visited the small museum here in town before we ventured out to Cape Flattery today, it just didn’t feel like enough, so we took up a table at a bayside restaurant to try and offer just a little more support of the Makah Tribe. Thirty years after I really started becoming aware of the plight of America’s original population, I still can’t help but feel repulsion at how ineffective the dominant culture has been in supporting people outside the narrow definition of who is considered the real American.

Forgotten Washington – Day 1

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Disclaimer: This post is one of those that ended up being written years after the experience was had. Sadly, there were no notes taken so whatever is shared here must be extracted from the images and what memories they may have lent us. Fortunately, there was an itinerary still in my directory of travel plans, so that will help with some details. As to why this wasn’t noted or blogged about, I was in the throes of writing/editing my book Stay In The Magic and felt that any other deep writing would derail that fragile effort.

The day starts at the Chaco Canyon Cafe, an all-organic joint great for the vegetarians in the crowd, meaning Caroline. Our old friend Kirk is joining us, not just for breakfast but for the duration of the trip.

As I’m writing this here in 2021, I feel like I should get this out of the way right up front. Never hire friends, ever. Three years after this photo was taken, Rainy left Starbucks to work for me on a virtual reality startup. It couldn’t have been more than a few weeks after that start date that things turned adversarial. While Rainy ended up working for me until I fired everyone, things didn’t work out so “well” with Kirk. I’d already been operational for two years when Kirk joined us, moving from Seattle down to Phoenix for the opportunity. Through a series of blunders on my side and the general circumstances surrounding a startup, Kirk was fired along with the other 27 other members of the company. Things didn’t go well on his account, and we are no longer friends. Well, Rainy and I are no longer friends anymore either. I guess that should be expected when you not only fail yourself, and your investors but your vulnerable employees too. Sadly, I mostly purged Kirk’s presence from my site after our bitterly acrimonious falling out that hurt me deeply, but now that I feel like I could be over it, I miss that he was once a part of my life as he really was mostly a great guy.

I will not focus any more attention on Rainy and Kirk as neither of them will likely ever see these blog posts but I will include mentions and photos when they played an integral role in the course of the day.

Before leaving for Seattle, Caroline and I were considering a bike tour of the city if Rainier was locked under a cover of clouds, but waking under such beautiful skies and seeing that things were clear south of us, we headed for Mount Rainier for a hike.

Selfies in front of National Park signs always seem like the right thing to do in our ongoing attempt to capture us in front of all the National Parks of the United States, and a second shot is just incredibly lucky. Click here to see our visit back in July of 2004.

While I’m not 100% certain that we didn’t visit in between as I write this, our previous visit was possibly back in 2004 when, on July 3rd of that year, we arrived at Mt. Rainier under snow and clouds.

We are on the Comet and Christine Falls Trail, which is a 3.2-mile roundtrip hike that is rated as moderate with 1,279 feet of elevation gain.

At the time we crossed over this dandy log bridge, I took it for granted, but as I was researching details for this post, I saw that it’s broken and that for many people the end of the line for reaching the Comet Falls.

Caroline approaching Comet Falls on a perfect day.

There are so many beautiful views in this park on the trail that it’s difficult to share only those I’m posting but with my style of writing to each photo I include, I would only make my chore of writing impossible if I chose more.

I think visitors have been feeding the birds, probably at an alarming rate because since when do birds just fly up and land on your hands?

It’s so hard not to be compelled to take a hundred photos of the mountain that is notorious for being elusive.

Of course, a Junior Ranger badge was required. How else was Caroline going to know even more about this park?

With her ranger badge firmly pinned to her chest, it was time to celebrate with a toast of Rainier Beer under the shadow of Rainier.

Apparently, the foxes of Mt. Rainier also know the taste of human food. Do you think it prefers Oreo cookies or Cheetos?

Nope, I’m not getting bored of this view.

Sure, there are other views, and under normal circumstances, these layers of fading mountains in the distance would have been enough to stop for a photo, but come on, we’re at Mt. Rainier, and we’re not here to cheapen our memories. Oh wait, I’m sharing this suboptimal view into nothingness, but that’s okay, as whatever visually came after leaving the area is lost due to my failure to take more photos. In all likelihood, I skipped photos due to our 3.5-hour drive up north to Arlington, Washington, so we’d be well-positioned for tomorrow’s big adventure.

Kings Canyon – Day 3

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Caroline Wise receiving her Junior Range pledge from Ranger Frank Helling at Kings Canyon National Park in California

Fourth of July is America’s Independence Day, and Caroline finds one more reason to celebrate. Ranger Helling placed his ranger hat on Caroline’s head and swore her in as a Junior Ranger with a pledge to protect Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Parks. He also showed us details on the ranger uniform we hadn’t paid attention to before. The National Park Ranger patch on the left shoulder is in the shape of an arrowhead; it features a bison, which represents wildlife but is also indicative of the first National Park, Yellowstone. The bison stands in front of a mountain which is Mount Rainier, and next to a tree, which is a giant Sequoia. On the Ranger’s hat is a black leather band with two metallic ornaments in the shape of green seed cones of the Sequoia, and even the Ranger’s belt is embossed with a Sequoia cone pattern. Caroline is now a Junior Ranger at Yellowstone, Arches, Canyonlands, Petrified Forest, Natural Bridges, Grand Canyon, and Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Parks! Only 51 National Parks left, and who knows how many national monuments, seashores, battlefields, historic parks, and cultural sites.

Trail side in Redwood Canyon at Kings Canyon National Park in California

With the formalities out of the way, it was time for recreation. Not far from the Grant Grove ranger station is the narrow dirt road into Redwood Canyon. We are taking the Sugarbowl trail. Early in Arizona’s summer, around mid-March leading into April, we will typically have already been experiencing days that are approaching the upper 80s. During these weeks, we might venture north to enjoy a great spring day in the mountains only to be reminded that it is still winter in other places. Here in Kings Canyon, we are reminded that while it is summer almost everywhere else, it is still springtime up here. Wildflowers are in abundance; we feel lucky to be witnessing this spectacular bloom and are all but certain that in two weeks, summer will have arrived, and the wildflowers will be but a distant memory until next year.

Standing in the burned-out center of a very live Sequoia tree in Kings Canyon National Park, California

We are in the Sugarbowl grove. This is another one of those moments where it would be easy to show you the obvious, that being the giant trees that were all around us, but you should see that with your own eyes. What I am offering is a much rarer sight. Just off the trail at the bottom of a tree is a hole, a hole singed by fire and not too small that it would keep big guys like myself from crawling through. To our amazement, we could both enter the tree. Once inside, there was ample room for both of us to stand up – at the same time. The center of the tree was burned out, but the hundreds of feet and tens of thousands of pounds of the tree above us are very much alive and well. How far up the black scar ascended was impossible to see.

On the Sugarbowl trail in Redwood Canyon - part of Kings Canyon National Park in California

The trail continues. On occasion, a hiker or two passes us, but it is quiet and peaceful out here. I hope the photo conveys to you just how perfect a day we were having. And while I will soon sound like a broken record, suppose I’m dating myself with that reference; we are moving as slowly as humanly possible so that we might not miss even one detail. Sure, we know we’re missing a million little things and probably more than a few big things, but augmented reality with geospatial overlays offering detailed information regarding geology, flora, and fauna, are not yet available for hikers in the backcountry, or maybe anywhere else either.

Fresh green growth of a tree in Kings Canyon National Park in California

The narrow ringing of fluorescent green at the ends of the older and darker green growth was an impressive showing of how far this tree was extending itself into the world. This was also our first occasion to see something like this, which makes one wonder if our powers of observation are normally asleep. Are these phenomena always around us demonstrating the magic of nature that we are simply not truly aware of? It leaves me pondering why as a mass of humanity, we concern ourselves with the machinations of talking heads, relegating the grand stuff to the eggheads.

Base of a Sequoia tree in the Sugarbowl grove in Kings Canyon National Park, California

Halfway. No photo will ever convey the feeling to be had being here. You may perceive the colors and shading, and you may glean size and random details, but these are all poor perceptions of a design by nature that only one’s own eyes, nose, and other senses can at once be intrigued with and baffled by. The immensity of this perfection is often lost in the cynicism of those who prefer the artificial. Had other men had their way, all of these trees would have been converted into fences distancing us from our neighbors and ourselves. When you look into the beauty of nature, you should be so lucky to witness your own complexity and great fortune at being counted amongst the teaming life, sharing a moment of mutual respect. Sadly, our reality is more akin to the idea that tree huggers are a weak shadow of humanity who would steal the bread from the hungry mouth of a child. Our balance tilts to the stupid; the nature of man has the roots of the ugliest weed.

Caroline Wise on the Sugarbowl loop trail in Kings Canyon National Park, California

I cannot break out of the idea that in the second half of the loop, we are returning to an endpoint. What conditioning brought this poor thought to my mind? If only I could not see the end of the trail and this hike until the moments just before seeing the parking area. I feel part of the magic is stolen from me as I walk along in recognition that this is the last half. It is pessimism; my glass is now half empty. Is this an affliction of modernity or of aging where time has become our master? Lucky children never see their own end of innocence as time has not yet become their guide; they still see all of the opportunities ahead of them; time is boundless and full of promise. Alas, getting old rears its head, letting you know that an end is near, and these trail moments, happy moments, and pleasant moments that come to a close are little reminders that our own existence is limited. Maybe I should spend more time hiking into life than returning on its trail.

A butterfly sucking up nectar in a flower at Kings Canyon National Park, California

For a moment, I envy the butterfly. From flower to flower a neverending feast of nectar. But it too will see the end of the trail; in so many days or weeks, the flowers will shrivel and fall away. With nowhere left to nourish itself, it will then lay eggs to start the next cycle of life, and its wings will cease to flutter. Is self-awareness all that it is made out to be? To live instinctually served our ancestors, but a milestone in the development of our mind and the advancement of language gave our species the curse of recognizing our own frailties, shortcomings, fears and understanding that death is on the horizon. Maybe it is our ultimate fatalism that has us running amok on earth, trying to lay our next seed before all of the flowers are dead and gone.

In the forest of Redwood Canyon at Kings Canyon National Park, California

Deep in the forest, with trees towering into the heavens and plants surrounding me, I feel the ancient wisdom of the man or creature who might have looked around and knew their place. They were themselves but a tree, a leaf, a branch, the butterfly, one with and of the natural world, not its master. While standing here in awe, there is also the overwhelming sense of tragedy that these small corners of what remains of nature are forever being diminished and lost due to our need to control all facets of our existence. A real Independence Day would be for these trees, these ferns, and salamanders to be able to live without the ax, the bulldozer, and the smog threatening their environment.

A stream flowing under a fallen tree in Kings Canyon National Park, California

Meanwhile, Caroline was off exploring a creek, cutting her own path through the thicket. I hollered out but heard no response; my first thought was that nature in the form of a bear had struck; no, she would have screamed. On second thought, she fell into a hole. The third was that incredibly dumb TV-induced idea that someone jumped out of the bushes and attacked her. Now, on my way to panic, I holler out again, still no answer. Cursing won’t help me now. Once more, I holler, or maybe it was a scream, and not eighty feet away, I hear her asking me what I want. Just making sure that Mike Meyers hadn’t dragged you into the bowels of the earth to chop off your limbs before selling you into an international prostitution ring. Fears allayed, I followed my wife with both arms and legs still intact over to the stream for this beautiful view and some hugging, knowing she wasn’t bear food either.

Lush green foliage and purple flowers at the foot of giant Sequoia trees in Kings Canyon National Park, California

Now, I know we are slow, purposefully lingering at a crawl, but can we really be this slow? At other times, slow was typified by our mile-per-hour pace. Well, if this trail is six and a half miles and we have been out here nearly eight hours, we must surely have lost the trail back to the parking lot. Caroline is assuring me that I can stay calm, that we are right where we should be, and we are not far from the finish line. Earlier, we passed a family that was heading up the trail to the Sugarbowl grove from where we had come, and they insisted they were on their way back to the parking lot and that there wasn’t a fork leading to the parking lot in the direction we were hiking. We did go through an especially thick, overgrown part of the trail; maybe we missed the turnoff? I must be getting forest fever as now I start wishing I’d brought more food, water, and a flashlight for our night in the forest.

A bear crawling up a giant Sequoia tree looking for food in Kings Canyon National Park, California

What’s that? Did you hear that? Yes, I heard it too. There it is again; what does it mean? IT MEANS BEAR!!!!! No, this wasn’t a forest fever-induced hallucination; it was a real bear. And the sound? It was clawing into trees looking for food, maybe grubs, maybe bees, but hopefully not looking for fat guys about to make pee-pee-filled hiking boot appetizers. Where the hell did my wife get this sudden burst of calm? I’m ready to run if I could breathe, and she’s like, shhh, let’s just stand here and watch it. Are you serious? Maybe its mother is on the other side of the trail and is getting ready to gouge some eyeballs out of my puny, not-bear-proof head. She tries to reassure me that it’s obviously not interested in us and that everything’s cool. The only reason it’s not interested yet is it hasn’t picked up on the scent of fear I’m exuding. Slowly, my lungs refill with oxygen, and I step back to Ms. Braveheart and snap a few photos before I slither away with both eyes over my shoulder making sure we’re not being hunted. After an hour of being tracked by this monster bear, we safely returned to our car, but I’m sure life was in the balance more than Caroline would ever admit.

Lavender, Petrified Wood, and Nostalgia

JWise Photo of the Day, Travels

Salt River Canyon on Highway 60 in eastern Arizona

Early in our road trip days, it wasn’t uncommon to take a single day to explore. In the past few years, it has become the norm to venture far and wide, taking five, seven, or ten days to immerse ourselves in a destination far away. Today, we return to form. Out over Globe, Arizona, and up through the Salt Canyon, the road climbs toward the White Mountain Apache Reservation. We pass through Show Low on our way northeast.

Shiloh Village near Concho, Arizona

Remember Y2K? Here in Concho, Arizona, it appears that the nearly deserted Shiloh Village may have been part of that lore. With rusting street lights, underground electricity, and the random fire hydrant, there isn’t much out here – besides Red Rock Ranch & Farms. And this ranch is precisely the reason for taking the 200+ mile drive today. We are attending the 7th Annual Arizona Lavender Festival.

Lavender from Red Rock Ranch and Farm near Concho, Arizona

Lavender is everywhere. Different colors of lavender, shades of purple to snowy white. The festival isn’t a grand affair out here in the middle of nowhere, but it’s intimate enough to be personal and worth the visit. The first folks we spoke with are from Terroir Seeds Company, a small family-owned operation specializing in heirloom and open-pollinated seeds. After signing up for their catalog, it was time for the first cooking demonstration using lavender in the kitchen. With about sixty of us crowding around the speaker, we were invited to sample a half dozen lavender-inspired concoctions, including a lavender lemonade mix that led me to think about making a green tea, lavender, and limeade drink after returning to Phoenix.

Lavender from Red Rock Ranch and Farm near Concho, Arizona

Back outside, the wind kicked up and gave the appearance that a monsoon was on the way. Outback, we snagged two box lunches we had reserved – both meals were prepared using lavender. I had the chicken and lavender wrap with lavender couscous, a non-lavender coleslaw, and a lavender ginger cupcake, while Caroline had the lavender veggie wrap and the same sides as I. Before leaving, we bought a small lavender plant, a cookbook for using lavender in your meals, and a lavender and chili blend called Herbes de Concho. This particular spice blend uses a chili that nearly went extinct from the local area known as the Concho Red Chili; seeds for this chili are available from Terroir Seeds.

Caroline Wise and John Wise in front of the Petrified Forest National Park sign - Arizona

If we are this far north, there is no other choice but to visit the Petrified Forest National Park just a few miles up the road. Not that we haven’t been here a half dozen times already, but this visit is for Caroline to, you guessed it, get her Junior Ranger Badge. After the obligatory self-portrait in front of the park sign, we head directly to the visitors center to make the case for why my big kid needs to be a Junior-Senior Ranger. They oblige her, and she is quick to get busy working on what lessons will be learned for this honor.

Petrified wood against a fluffy white cloud sky in Petrified Forest National Park, Arizona

Our first trail is just outside the visitors center, and you may or may not know of all of the signs that tell visitors to stay on the trail, well, they apparently rarely mean what they demand. What is wrong with these incompetent nincompoops? Were they born yesterday, did they forget their brain in the car, or did their children siphon off the remaining intelligence through their incessant pestering, complaining, and various neuroses? Hey wife, get to work as Ms. Junior Ranger and get those people off the log and back on the trail. Right, fine, I’ll be the Ranger Man here and give you an example of how it’s done. “Hey you, yeah you, do you see a trail over there? Can you read? Do I need to pull out my tazer, zap you, and drag your convulsing body back onto the trail?” Yep, that’s how I did it, sort of. Alright, in truth, that was the dialog in my imagination before the more polite words, “Excuse me, you need to return to the trail; the sign behind us says, STAY ON THE TRAIL,” fell from my mouth.

Petrified log at Petrified Forest National Park in Arizona

Now free of our National Park good deed work, we get to the more important task of enjoying our time learning new things about the Petrified Forest we hadn’t known before. Caroline sits in the middle of the trail inspecting rocks. Rocks that used to be trees. Rocks that, in some cases, still look like trees. Such as this one where a knot is still visible; I’m guessing there may have been a branch of the tree connected here some gazillion years ago. All of the petrified trees here have fallen over; in one particular tree at the base of the root structure, you can see the gravel the root system was holding on to as the tree toppled. Today, if you visit the Redwoods, the Sequoias, or Olympic National Park, you can see the exact same situation in the roots of more recently felled trees. Nature’s time frozen in stone.

Petrified wood at Petrified Forest National Park in Arizona

Oh, the desire to have a souvenir, to have a massive piece of petrified wood that is way too big for our small abode. It wouldn’t matter that it is too big; it would compete with my attention for the internet as I sit for hours in my purpose-bought chair that would be used solely for staring at the intricacies of how the minerals in the trunk of this tree overtook the organic material replacing it with colorful stone. Maybe we could buy one of those polished slices the size of a dining table, they can’t be much more than thirty, forty thousand dollars.

Caroline Wise at Petrified Forest National Park in Arizona

The winner of not just a Junior Ranger Badge but a patch, too, all that hard work paying off.

Detail of glass ceiling panels at the Painted Desert Inn National Historic Landmark in Petrified Forest National Park, Arizona

The Painted Desert Inn, once a trading post, then an inn and restaurant, is now a museum. The last time we came through, it was being refurbished. Today, it is a gleaming nostalgic example of what we lose as we rush to modernization. Route 66 use to deliver visitors right to the door of this beautiful National Historic Landmark. The Civilian Conservation Corps built the Inn between 1937 and 1940 but by 1963 the Fred Harvey company closed it and by the mid-70’s its demolition was proposed. Only by a raucous public outcry was the building saved. The painted glass panels above are in the ceiling and are all original – this building is a treasure.

The now dirt roadbed where the historic Route 66 once was at the Petrified National Park in Arizona

Speaking of old Route 66, while most of it is gone supplanted in large part by Interstate 40 here in Arizona, there are small still paved segments still navigable. Here in Petrified Forest, there is this stretch where the mother road once flowed. Just to the left of those old telephone poles, the roadbed is now long gone, but the poles and a sign bring attention to passersby that this world-famous road was once here.

The sign for the 66 Motel in Holbrook, Arizona

The nostalgia has us hankering for a chocolate malted in an old-style diner on good old Route 66, so we aim the car for Holbrook, and wouldn’t you know it, the first old-fashioned diner is owned by a Hindu who doesn’t have malteds or apple pie and ice cream on the menu. Caroline remembers a Dairy Queen further in town, and so we go that way. On the way over, we recognize the first-ever motel we stayed in some ten or so years ago, the 66 Motel. There’s a back story to this adventure back then. I was horrified at staying at a cheap motel, all the stories of bugs, filth, noise, etc., but for Caroline, it was all about the neon, Route 66, the nostalgia, and the Americana of it all. So after relentless requests to stay at one of these dives, I finally gave in, choosing the cheapest place, which is also the furthest from the freeway, the 66 Motel, with rooms from $16.95 – I take the room without a look at it. Turns out, this wasn’t so bad after all, and so it went that from that day on Caroline and I have taken to the cheapest motels America has to offer. And after more than 400 nights in these places, we have only had to leave three that were disgusting beyond description.